Revenants
by Juliette Louise
Summary: My attempt to rebuild the ending of KotOR II:The Sith Lords. The Exile confronts her destiny at Malachor V, and her companions wonder if they can alter her path, or if it is already written in the Force. Rated for character death, violence. In-Progress
1. Chapter 1

_Greetings all. _Revenants_ is my attempt to reconstruct one of several original endings of _KOTOR II:The Sith Lords_. As you probably know, an estimated 40% of the plot (particularly concerning the ending) is missing from the final version of the game. If you are interested in my source material, I encourage you to check out the entry on this game on _Wookiepedia_, and also in the reconstruction efforts of _Team Gizka_ (whom I am not affiliated with, but support wholeheartedly). I go off-script a little, and extrapolate a little, but all of the major plot points are there. Enjoy! _

**Revenants**

A voice woke him.

Instinctively, he felt around in his mouth with his tongue. All of his teeth were still in, but he could taste blood from somewhere.

"Disciple," the voice said again. A woman's voice, but not Saer's. Mira.

"Disciple, you have to…we need you to…"

He opened his eyes, and the bounty hunter came slowly into focus.

"…wake up."

He was on the cold metal floor of the Ebon Hawk, in the main hold. Only the emergency lights were online, and they cast a strange red glow over everyone. Atton, arms crossed over his chest, facing away from him. Mira, trying to pull him off the floor. Mandalore, looming over them, still in full armor.

Mical sat up, clutching his head.

"Where's Saer? Where's Bao-Dur?"

Mira looked away. She had a brilliant bruise spreading along her jaw-line.

"Bao-Dur…was in the same compartment as you were. But he wasn't as lucky."

Mical shook his head furiously, trying to dislodge the disorientation. His eyes stung.

"What?" He said, although he already understood. He felt Bao-Dur's absence as keenly as he had ever felt anything.

"He's dead," Mandalore's modulated voice continued from overhead. "And the Exile is missing. She went after Kreia herself."

Mical only groaned, and thought about the best way to stand up. Mira grabbed an arm and helped haul him to his feet. Onasi. He had to contact Admiral Onasi. The _Sojourn_ was the only ship in the fleet large enough and powerful enough to hold it's own inside Malachor V's massive gravity well.

He'd seen this in dreams. Strange shadowy images. He saw this confrontation when he looked at Saer sometimes. He knew others did as well. It was both her blessing and her curse that her future always seemed so static, written in the Force like stone. From the moment they'd met again on Dantooine, he knew that they were hurtling toward this moment. Toward Malachor V.

"I'm contacting Admiral Onasi on the _Sojourn_ immediately. The Exile means to detonate the Mass Shadow generator again. He can transport you all a safe distance away. I'll stay here with the Hawk, if she still flies, and…"

Atton spun around on his heel.

"…Find her? Rescue her? How noble of you," he bit out. "I'm staying, too. She needs all the help she can get." He stepped out of shadow to face him.

Mical only stared at him for a moment, startled. His face was pale and drawn, and his hair was plastered down with sweat. He clutched the hilt of his lightsaber.

"You're not her only student."

Long, tense moments passed. Finally, Mical nodded. "Of course."

"Now wait a second! I'm not leaving either!" Mira exclaimed suddenly. "I didn't come all the way from Nar Shaddaa to…"

"We have to leave." Mandalore spoke up. Attention in the hold switched from one conflict to the other. "I've traveled with Jedi for long enough to know that this is Jedi business. And frankly, this isn't going to end well. Our duty now is to the Clans."

Mira only stared at him, arms crossed. She looked completely nonplussed at the revelation that Mandalore cared whether she lived or died.

"_Our _duty?I wasn't born a Mandalorian."

"But you lived as one, fought as one. Come back to Dxun. If not for the Mandalorians' sake, then for mine. Come with me."


	2. Chapter 2

Mical and Atton watched as the _Sojourn's _shuttlecraft struggled out of Malachor V's gravity well. The atmosphere was almost non-existent here, but the thin air meant a spectacular view of the stars. He watched the Admiral's ship, trying not to look down at the tarp under which what was left of Bao-Dur rested, a short distance away. Trying to prepare for the last act of his strange journey, deliberately not thinking of his Master, going into unthinkable danger alone. He only hoped their time together hadn't already ended.

They watched until the craft disappeared into nothingness. Then, they went to find the Exile.

Trayus Academy loomed in front of them in the ruined landscape, shaped like a huge spider on its back.

Mical was terrified. He had no idea how long it had been since Saer had left them. He told himself that he would know if she perished. He would feel it if she died.

Lightning crackled and snarled all around them, and Malachor V's ruined atmosphere was making his throat and lungs burn.

They walked across the difficult terrain for at least a klick, mounting huge jagged rocks in the wind, in near darkness. In silence. Only when they reached the academy did Atton speak.

"…Do you know how long it's been since I've killed a Jedi?"

Atton's eyes were red-rimmed and wild, and not just from the lack of sleep. Sweat stood out on his face, and he clutched the hilt of his lightsaber in a more-than-incidental way.

"Disciple" looked up at him, aghast, distracted from their quest—they needed to find Saer. His whole sordid past had been revealed--why would he talk about this now?

"W-why--?" Mical stammered.

Atton snorted, closing the distance between them in a deliberately casual way. He crossed his hands behind his back, and pursed his lips like he was thinking. He wasn't right, that much was apparent. His eyes were strange, and his skin was like a mask, stretched tight over the bones of his face.

"Killing a half-Jedi like you should hold me over until the next one comes along. They always do, you know. There are always more Jedi."

Instinct and training had already moved him into a ready stance. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed this before. Kreia. It had always been Kreia, driving all of them to this conclusion. Perhaps even blinding him to Atton's corruption. Even blinding his Master.

"Atton," Mical said firmly. "Kreia is using y—"

Atton, mere feet away now, cut him off.

"Really?" He snarled. "I had no idea. Everyone uses each other, kid. And if she's using me to kill you, as I see it, I really don't lose anything. I already lost what mattered to me. I wanted to protect her, to help her, and then you show up, playing hero. Fine."

The energy coming off of him was wild, foreign. It didn't feel like Atton at all. He knew that facing him in single combat would only add fuel to that energy, to whatever Kreia was feeding him. She was here on Malachor V as well, he was sure of it now. All paths were converging, as he knew they would, at Saer.

"I won't fight you, Atton." Mical tossed his weapon away.

"I don't care." Atton said quietly. "I just want you to die."


	3. Chapter 3

The Exile was here. He had let her live on Korriban, but she had followed him here, to the start, to Malachor V. Nihilus was dead, killed by his Shadow Hand. Visas Marr herself had succumbed mere minutes later. He'd felt the Exile's pain—sorrow for the death of a woman who'd once been her enemy—rippling across space.

Her pain tasted coppery like blood. He felt it across his closed eyes and tingling in his fingertips.

Oh yes, the Exile was here, looking for Kreia. He could feel her moving through Trayus Academy's ancient hallways, but didn't approach her. The Force was drawing them all here—pulling them toward Malachor V's heart like the Mass Shadow Generator pulled dead ships in with its gravity well. And yet, he sensed that it was not yet time to meet her.

If he closed his eyes even now he could see her, cradling the empty husk of Visas Marr, covered in the Miraluka's blood. Screaming out her sorrow through the Force.

Then, someone else entered the academy. Two someones. Sion sent tendrils of his perception out towards them. They weren't even bothering to hide themselves in the Force.

Apprentices. He would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much. They were making this so easy for him.

The Jedi washout, and the assassin.

Her pain was delicious, and he would taste it again before he killed her.

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Atton reeled away from his blow, and Disciple used the moment to shout at him.

"Don't do this! Don't you understand? This is a distraction! The Exile needs us and instead we're here!"

Atton only spat blood and charged him, roaring. "Then hurry up and die!" He attacked with shocking strength and command of the Force.

Disciple was fighting defensively, but he was quickly coming to the conclusion that wearing Atton down was not going to be possible. There was something feeding him that wasn't going to run out. Something flowing into him. He could feel it all around them.

Then Atton punched him in the temple, and the time for thinking was over. He struck out with his left palm and the Force and connected solidly with Atton's solar plexus. Atton nearly fell, but recovered, coughing raggedly.

Now Disciple was on the offensive. He needed to end this fight, and quickly. His ears rang and his vision wavered. He could only fight so long with a concussion. And at least an hour had passed since the Exile had left the ship, and he knew only too well how much could happen in an hour.

Disciple slashed at Atton's legs, but his opponent leapt high into the air and struck downwards. He leaned away from the blow, but Atton's lightsaber passed close enough that he could actually smell the material of his garments being singed.

"What's the matter, Sunshine, can't—"

Disciple saw the moment and acted. He didn't give him the chance to complete the insult, but kicked his legs out from under him. Time seemed to dilate around them. He saw Atton fall in slow-motion. Against any other opponent, this would have been the time for a killing blow. But Atton wasn't his enemy. It was the one that was pulling his strings.

Disciple reached out with the Force, and struck the lightsaber from his hand before he hit the ground.

The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment, panting. Disciple had his lightsaber poised at Atton's throat.

"You won't kill me," Atton said hoarsely.

"No, I won't. But I'll gladly stuff you into the Hawk's smuggling compartment until this is all over if necessary."

Something was changing. He wasn't sure if his half-hearted attempt at humor had shaken something loose inside Atton, but while the frantic energy surrounding him was still present, he was beginning to feel more like himself.

"She'll hate me now. She'll hate me and she'll be right. If she lives. Oh Force, what are we doing here? We have to help her!"

Disciple de-activated his lightsaber, but didn't put it back on his belt.

"Atton, please go back to the 'Hawk. You're not well! I promise, I won't speak of this to her, just please…"

Atton snorted, wiping blood off his mouth with his sleeve. Long moments passed. When he spoke again his voice was very quiet.

"You're right you know. It was always you she needed. The good student. The dutiful 'Padawan'. A murderer—a Jedi killer-- has no place in your new Order. This is the end for me. I've seen it. I'm sorry. _You_ go back to the ship. She'll need a decent pilot to get her out of here when the Mass Shadow Generator blows, and I won't…it won't be me." He pulled something off of his belt.

Mical blanched. "Atton--"

Then the flash mine exploded.


	4. Chapter 4

The constant storms were picking up in intensity, almost as though the horrible planet itself was responding to what was about to happen here. Had to happen. He would close the "wound" in the Force. Traya would look upon him again as her student. She would give up her insane mission to end the Force, and all would be as it once was.

Then, he heard something. Labored breath, and heavy footfalls. The older apprentice, the Jedi killer. He had Kreia's stink all over his mind. This was who she was training now? The Sith army's castoffs? This man's mind had been broken and remade more times than Sion's body--he could feel the cracks everywhere---and there was nothing but agony and dogma leaking out.

It would be almost a mercy to kill this man before Kreia's influence drove him hopelessly insane. Sion wished, at times, that someone would have granted him the same favor. He stepped into the courtyard to meet his Master's other apprentice.

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Mical returned to consciousness for the second time in less than an hour. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn't hear the thunder overhead, and his vision had gone nearly completely white. Was it possible to have one concussion over top of another? He pulled himself painfully into a kneeling position, centering himself in the Force.

He couldn't think of Atton now. Or Bao Dur, or Visas Marr. Now, there was only Saer. Saer had to succeed. He reached out, feeling for any trace of her, but there was nothing. Probably, she had deliberately closed herself off from him, to save him from Sion and Kreia's detection.

Quieting his thoughts, he willed the fog before his eyes to clear, trying to silence the pain in his head. He had to move on. Literally.

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Atton ran, fleeing through the cavernous hallways of the would-be Sith academy. Sion was here, and even more menacingly, Kreia. The old bitch was perfectly willing to execute her most promising student for her "failure" to bring an end to the Force.

He, the once and future Jaq Attarand, had been her accomplice in this. Had led her right into the maw.

Had he known? Was his betrayal of her deliberate, or unintentional? If he had ever had that knowledge, it was lost now. He could feel his mind coming apart at the seams. He'd spent such a long time breaking people—he was ashamed of himself for not noticing himself breaking with them.

The hallways of the Trayus Academy were wide and cavernous, deliberately dimly lit and ominous, so it was not a surprise when Darth Sion stepped out of the shadows like a ghost.

This was the end he had always been hurtling towards. The dying Jedi he held in his arms ten years ago and Saer were one. In his own horrible way, he had loved them both.

There was no fear. He had seen his destiny. He would keep Sion at bay long enough for Saer to destroy this planet, and escape with her life. This was the terminus of ten years of wondering why he had been allowed by the Force to live. It was the last, best gift he could her.

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Bao-Dur's remote glided effortlessly over the jagged rock that was giving the organics in the group so much trouble. Its Master was dead, but had left him one final directive. Later, the one called "The Exile", had expounded on that one directive. It was its last duty.

It would be destroyed, of course, but as a machine, it had no sentimentality about that.


	5. Chapter 5

The_ Sojourn's _bridge was very nearly in chaos. Klaxons blared overhead, men talked very animatedly to each other and pointed at graphs and charts on view screens. The pilot of the craft sent to retrieve them, a green recruit named Alaric led them hurriedly through rows of soldiers to the helm.

Carth Onassi was facing away from them, arms crossed, staring at the wreck of Malachor V. When he turned to face them, Canderous felt very much like they were chasing across the galaxy after some damned Jedi artifact again.

Carth had some grey in his hair that hadn't been there before, and few more lines around the eyes, but the smile was the same.

"Canderous! You old bastard." Carth pounded him on the back so hard his ribs rattled. "And this is Mira, I presume."

Mira looked extremely nonplussed. "As wonderful as it is to meet your acquaintance, Admiral Onassi, shouldn't we be concentrating less on the reunion and more on getting the hell out of here?"

Carth chuckled, but in a grim way. "Well, no. Our orbit is steady for the moment, but I'm not leaving before I hear from Mical and Saer. If they can't activate the Mass Shadow Generator, then one of us will."

Onassi turned, and walked to a huge topographic map of the surface, glowing faintly green against his face.

He pointed. "Theres' the _Hawk. _Our scans lead us to believe that she's still operational. There's the MSG, and there's the Trayus core. I'll bet anything that they've split up. There's less than a klick between the three locations, and the MSG has a 60 minute timer."

"I hate to break it to you, Admiral," said Mira, hands on her hips, "But they didn't split up. The Exile went after Kreia, and Mical went after her. I don't think anyone was overly concerned with the--"

View screens all over the bridge lit up, and yet another klaxon sounded.

"Admiral!" Alaric yelled, reading over another man's shoulder. "The MSG is online!"

Onassi bounded across the bridge, stabbing at the screen with a finger. "Yes!  
There she is! Prepare to jump to hyperspace!"

"What about Saer and Mical?" Mira nearly shrieked. If the Sith Lords don't kill them the Mass Shadow Generator will!"

All the enthusiasm drained rapidly from Onassi's face. He turned again to face Malachor V, arms crossed over his chest.

"Mical was the best intelligence operative to come out of Repub Intel in a decade, or he wouldn't have been working for me. Don't write him off just yet."

"If we're not writing him off, what's with all the past tenses, Admiral?" Canderous finally spoke.

"He quit about two hours ago. They say a man can only have one Master, and your Exile apparently has more to offer than his handlers at Repub Intel. I never would have guessed."

Carth loaded co-ordinates into the navicomputer.

"Wait...Sunshine a is a damned _spy_?" Mira demanded.

Onassi nodded to his navigator, and the starfield around them blurred into brilliant blue.

"He was. I guess now he's a Jedi."


End file.
